Hunting Memories - By Barb Hendee Page 0,28
save everyone she could.
Her record was even better than Betty’s.
Besides daily work, the de Spensers also enjoyed each other’s company and celebrated holidays together in grand fashion: Christmas, Easter, Imbolc, Beltane, Lammas, and Samhain.
Kenna was the small image of Briana in looks and manner, but Seamus had little in common with either of his parents. He showed no interest in his father’s profession and spent a good deal of his time watching other men in the village train horses.
Then, one day, shortly after Seamus turned nine years old, he came running into the house, breathless with excitement, his shaggy brown hair in a tangled mess.
“Mother! Rose! Get Kenna and grab a few coins. A troupe of actors has arrived. All the way from London! They said they’re going to do Desdemona’s death scene in the market square. Hurry! They’re setting up now.”
Briana looked up from the dough she was kneading and laughed. “Calm yourself, boy. And what do you know of Desde mona’s death scene? Those actors are not going anywhere soon.” But then she seemed pleased at the idea of an afternoon’s entertainment. “Rose?” she asked. “Shall we take the children?”
The mood was infectious, and Rose bundled up Kenna while Briana washed her hands, and they all trekked off into the village.
“Oh, look,” Rose said, pointing at the brightly painted wagon and makeshift stage. Seamus ran ahead, pushing into a place out front, and not to be outdone by her brother, Kenna let go of her mother’s hand and ran after him.
“Mind your manners!” Briana called. “Don’t be pushin’ folks.”
Rose had a difficult time bringing herself to discipline Seamus. She loved him so much and he was just . . . high-spirited.
“Briana! Rose!” Miriam Boyd called to them. “Come and find a place here with us.”
The air crackled with the excitement, almost like a festival, or at least an event outside the daily routine.
A vendor who traveled with the troupe was working at a cart near the stage, selling questionable-looking meat pies, and some of the villagers were buying them as fast as he could take their coins.
“Don’t let the children eat any of those,” Rose said with a slight frown.
“Of course not,” Briana said, trying to see over the crowd. “I wish I was as tall as you.”
The crowd fell silent as the stage’s makeshift curtain parted. A woman in a long blond wig and wearing a pale blue gown lay sleeping on a bed. Othello stepped out into view, tall and impressive with his blackened face and leather armor and fur robes.
But he nearly tripped, as if his boot caught on a board. His eyes were glassy, and a feeling of unease began building inside Rose.
“It is the cause, it is the cause, my soul.” The actor’s voice rang loud and deep, reaching the very back of the crowd. “Let me not name it to you, you chaste stars!”
He took another step and faltered again. “It is the cause. Yet I’ll not shed her blood. Nor scar that whiter skin of hers than snow, and smooth as monumental alabaster.”
He unsheathed his sword and dropped it. The audience was en raptured, but Rose spotted a few lines in his makeup. She focused her eyes, trying to see his face more clearly, and she realized he was sweating in the cold day.
Her feeling of unease grew stronger.
“Yet she must die, else she’ll betray more men.” Othello’s voice rang out. He wavered during the next line. “Put out the light, and then put out the light.”
He collapsed onto the stage, his head hitting the floor with a thudding sound.
For the span of a few breaths, the audience remained quiet, thinking this part of the show, but then the woman on the couch rose up and cried, “Henry?”
She ran to him, and the crowd began to murmur in confusion. Seamus was at the edge of the stage, his face concerned, and he grabbed the side to swing himself up.
Rose’s feeling of unease exploded into fear as she remembered his earlier words at the house.
All the way from London.
“Seamus!” she shouted, shoving her way toward the stage. “Don’t touch him!”
Rose was strong, and she reached the stage in seconds, but Seamus was already kneeling beside the sweating, unconscious actor.
“Don’t touch him,” she repeated. “Get back.”
“What is it?” Briana asked, rushing up behind and grabbing Kenna, lifting her off the ground.
“Fever,” Rose answered.
Two days later, the actor died.
Four days after that, Seamus fell ill, along with others in the village. Soon after, half